Crossing Over
by Hannurdock
Summary: Dimensional travel allows a girl to meet The Turtles, and a host of other hero's.
1. Prologue

Title: Crossing Over  
  
Author: Hannurdock  
  
****  
  
Ever wondered what would happen if you found yourself in a wormhole in time and dimension? Ever wondered who you might meet or what you might do?  
  
Well it happened to me.   
  
The reality of the situation and its endless possibilities kinda blew me away. Everyone is going ahead at full steam trying to crack the secrets of the universe with complex equations and mathematics that would make your head spin around more times than the girl in the exorcist.  
  
I am no genius. Hell, I am a simple English rose who never really fell in love and spent her days wistfully fantasising about four green skinned, shell backed mutants who could not be real, in any shape or form. It was too absurd to think that such creatures might exist. And they don't in our dimension. The key being 'in "our" dimension'.....  
  
Dimensions are like a load of tree branches spewing out from each other into endless little intricate twigs. Twigs of possibilities you might say. Although this is immensely deep, and I may as well start trying to explain the principles of Karma and the Occult for all they are really worth, I believe I have a story to share.  
  
But, the most essential beginning for this story is an explanation of how this could be plausible. Going back a few steps to the Twigs of Possibilities, suddenly it dawned on me how to achieve cross-dimensional travel. And I am NOT talking about old Doctor Who re-runs or movies with the same warped logic. I'm speaking of something as old as time itself. Ever since Eve took the Big Bite from the Acidic Apple to be precise. The Twigs of Possibility really began there. You see, Eve had two choices she could make at that moment, and the simple decision followed two paths - one that led to mankind's success …. the other to mankind's downfall. Each of those dimensions are real, and exist … somewhere. It started as the trunk, and then the split made the branches fork out in never ending possibilities. Just as there may not be any mutant shell backed hero's in our dimension … did you ever stop to consider they may be alive and well, living in another version of our world?  
  
Enough said. It makes my brain hurt thinking of such endless variety of life and dimensions. We are a tiny pepperoni on the Pizza of Life. All we need to do is figure out how on earth we can move from dimension to dimension, like Raph has a habit doing from rooftop to rooftop. Or as Mikey has no trouble in digesting pizza after pizza .....  
  
Like Donny, I think too much about possibilities. It didn't do Einstein much good, and neither did it help Leonardo de Vinci. However, I firmly got it into my small brain that we may be able to cross from one dimension to another. Why the hell shouldn't we? It seems a simple question, and demands a simple answer. Why can't I cross dimensions as easily as crossing tubes on the London underground?  
  
The key to all this begins with life itself. Life begins with a single breath, and breathing is the key to discovering all possibilities that can exist. Some may call it a fancy name such as Astral Projection or Astral Plane, but it all amounts to the same thing. The state we reach when meditating is like when we board an aeroplane to take us to some exotic destination. It's a vehicle for travelling.  
  
I have always meditated, and through that profound state of mind found the key to open all closed doors. I share my story with you now because I believe all doors should be opened for everyone.   
  
Come with me and journey into the world of possibility ... the story begins.  
  
Hannurdock  



	2. Chapter 1

Title: Crossing Over  
  
Author: Hannurdock  
  
****  
  
Success is a human trait, losing gracefully is a spiritual one - Gary Brook.  
  
Yeah, right.   
  
Tell that to my opponent, a six foot woman with a vicious uppercut. Stay away from her left hook, watch out for her sidestepping and roundhouse. Always a killer.  
  
The martial arts are an eastern form of self defence, concentrating on speed, strength and agility to overcome an opponent. Basically, I am a champion of my sport and art .... kickboxing. It takes a lot of nerve to jump into the ring when your opponent has 'that look'. The killing look. Somehow I did it this time, as I manage to pluck up the courage each and every time. I don't enjoy fighting. I was more interested in the idea of defending myself when I first joined Gary Brook's Jujitsu and Kickboxing School. I steadily progressed until I was top of the class, so to speak. Still competitions held very little for me. I am not a natural performer, and a lot of the moves tend to be crowd pleasers. Much like a choreographed dance routine. I have two left feet when it comes to martial elegance.  
  
Ask me to fight someone. I can do that. Ask me to parade with a pair of nunchaku for half an hour and I'll tell you where to go. Or better yet, I'll send you packing with a punch. Don't get me wrong, I don't go looking for trouble. I'm not a thug in any sense of the word. I enjoy my sport, as do tennis players and cricketers. The only difference is that instead of a ball in the face, I get a wooden shaft on a deadly chain hitting me with killer speed.  
  
Enough said. Its tough, but then I am the very woman to do this right. I put a lot of time and effort into my training. Had it not been for the puppy dog pleading Gary is so good at, I would never had agreed to this little stage show with a woman so tall she would bang her head ungracefully on the door frame when entering the room.  
  
Pathetic.  
  
She gives me the Killing Look and I almost smirk. Losing is definately going to be a learning experience for this one. Or maybe it will be my turn to bite the dust, so to speak. I hesitate, taking in the appearance of my adversary, her voluptuous and rounded form. She gazes at me, admiring my physical appearance and revelling in the battle about to begin.  
  
She lunges forward. I sidestep away from her swift kick and counter with a hard uppercut to her chin. She reels backward and I move forward, intoxicated by the moment, the sweet smell of victory in the scent of her blood. She spits out a tooth and glares at me.  
  
Anguish. Pain. Maybe even fear in her expression. She glares at me, masking her fear with hatred. This is amusing. Touchy brat she is, accustomed to winning and succeeding. Defeat will definately be a learning curve, something she will benefit from immensely.  
  
"Your dead" She says in a voice which would have sent shivers up my spine if I had been a lesser person, but courage I have in abundance and I simply smile and wait for the inevitable torrent of blows to come from this enraged animal.  
  
It doesn't take long.  
  
Within moments, she moves forward with the speed of a panther, striking me with her elbow. I deftly block this move, instinct replacing my initial reactions with a cold precise series of actions. I retaliate with left cross and then with the palm of my hand, forcing her to reel backwards, arms flailing.   
  
"Bitch" She gasps as her nose starts to bleed.  
  
I do not encourage name-calling at these events. Emotions are running high in the audience and I hate to add to the pure and base emotional reactions becuase this further heightens my own feelings, and pushes me further from my goal. To win in such a dangerous sport as this, you need to make yourself devoid of emotion, to free your mind and soul. Instinct is everything, and a clear mind is essential.  
  
But I digress.  
  
In truth, the simple way of avoiding defeat is to become like a hard stone, impervious to emotion and hard to the plight of your adversary. It is too simple, too human an emotion to suddenly feel guilt over the pain inflicted. The real winners never think twice, they just react.  
  
Clumsily, due to the small blood loss from her nose she moves forward to attack me once more. I dive and duck and weave as is natural to me and she begins to feel the impending defeat and her fear becomes obvious. Not just to me, but to the crowd of onlookers.  
  
I move forward now, after wearing my opponent down a little and deliver a series of harsh blows to her stomach. She gasps, her face scrunching hideously in deep pain, and falls to her knees. The crowd, once cheering, fall silent. Then applause echoes throughout the building.  
  
I kneel down, my victory complete and hold out my hand. Without warning, she lashes out with her fist, connecting with my jaw. A vicious under-hand move. The crowd protest, but the referree ignores the please for justice. Reeling, I see she is back on her feet and advancing towards me. I am angered becuase she played down to sucker me in. With a swift gesture, I sweep her feet from under her, and punch her hard in the face.   
  
She is out cold. Oblivious to the sudden overwhelming cry of joy from the crowd. They are pleased to see such treachery repaid. As I was the underdog of this match, the applause is full of feeling and people are standing up and clapping. I am speechless, I am amazed.  
  
"And the winner of this fantastic and gruelling match, featherweight Female Kickboxing champion .... the Hannurdock". The referree may as well been talking to statues, for all the interest it gained him. The crowd were looking at me, smiling, shouting their affection.  
  
I am lost in this familiar sensation of being praised on the strength of my skill and ability. It is overwhelming.  
  
I step down from the ring, and walk back into the changing area, flanked by reporters on either side. As soon as I enter my own room, my manager tells the reporters to leave me alone, and then follows me in.  
  
"You did good, gal" Johnnie said with a huge smile on his face.  
  
"Yeah?" I smile at him, and put the key into my locker. I open the door and get out a towel. I head to the showering area, and I glance at the poster above the door.  
  
"Wonder if they would be proud" I murmer, watching the familiar splash of green on poster grey. A glimmer from a narrowed eye, glint of metal, face of desinty. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. As always, in my poster. Not real, never real.   
  
"Of course, are you kiddin'? You are a superstar of the martial arts world" Johnnie stopped talking and moved beside me, watching the poster confused.  
  
"I don't understand the fascination you have with them. I mean, they are not even real. Why couldn't you like Jean Claude Van Damme instead?"  
  
I laugh and move into the shower, to be surrounded by steamy heat and pouring water. I relax. I surrender to the sensation of being free, not listening, not watching my back.  
  
I finish and wander out of the shower, and into the changing room.  
  
No-one is here. They have left me to my own devices. I dry myself off with the towel. I look up to see my beloved Turtles. The poster is gone.  
  
"Johnnie!!??!" I shout, not amused. He'll get a kick in the ass for this. No-one touches my poster, no-one hides it from me.  
  
Just like no-one touches my TMNT videos, books and comics. Only I have the privalege of touching them. I bought them, they are mine. I own them.  
  
"Johnnie, give me back my poster" I shout, checking the shadowed corners of the room, expecting him to jump out at any moment and surprise me with poster in his left hand.  
  
But he didn't. He wasn't in the room.  
  
Infuriated, I walk out of the changing area into the empty arena where I only just fought. Empty. Strange, usually people linger for autographs hours after the event. This is very odd.  
  
I collect my gear and head for the door, and let myself out. I walk along the crowded mid-day New York streets toward my home.   
  
I feel strangely relaxed, considering the duel I have fought. I listen to the noises of traffic, the sounds of a few birds singing.  
  
I stop in the local comic shop on the way home to see if they have any second hand TMNT comics in stock.  
  
"Hello?" Josh greets me as I walk through the door. "What do you want?"  
  
"Hey, its me" I am really annoyed by this greeting, or lack of "I came by in case there were any TMNT comics in stock"  
  
"TMNT?" Josh says, bemused. "What's that?"  
  
"You know, the Turtles" I say, trying to figure out this confusion, trying to work out what is happening. For a moment I wonder if he is playing with me, whether his face will suddenly crack into a smile. But nothing of the sort happens.  
  
"You haven't got any?" I ask in a whisper.  
  
"I haven't got the faintest idea what your talking about" Josh eyes me suspiciously. "We had a lot of break in's recently"  
  
"Really? Sorry Josh, I didn't know" I gasp.  
  
"How do you know my name?" Josh asks me, his eyes widening in shock.  
  
"I'll leave now" I stammer. I walk out of the door and into the street.  
  
Realms of possibility. I was unsure what was happening, but it made sense to assume if Josh didn't recognise me, then my friends wouldn't either.  
  
I was frightened and confused. What the hell was going on?  
  
The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles don't seem to exist either, every trace of them was gone from this strange world.  
  
I decide to go home, and I trudge wearily along filled with suspician and worry.  
  
At least when I get home, I can watch my Turtle episodes in peace and forget this nonsense.  
  
TBC?  



	3. Chapter 2

Title: Crossing Over (3)  
  
Author: Hannurdock  
  
****  
  
When I get home.   
  
When I get home I can eat something. I can take a shower. I can watch my TMNT videos. Generally, I can relax and enjoy myself. Maybe nurse my bleeding arm a little. Gift of the Bitch with the tremendous uppercut.  
  
Only, as I came into my road and looked at my house, I did start to get an uneasy feeling.  
  
I walk in and take my shoes off. Actually, kick them off is more precise. I move into the lounge and search through my video system for my TMNT videos.   
  
Search for about an hour. Finally, I take the hint they are not among my collection of martial art films and sit down in a bad mood. Its bad enough I have just fought my way to top of my league, but this? Some thief or robber would be eating his boot by the end of the evening.  
  
But why take my TMNT videos?  
  
So, I search for my TMNT comics.  
  
No joy.  
  
May as well have been searching for a star. Nothing could be found anywhere.  
  
By this time, I was getting thoroughly pissed off with the whole thing. I mean, no videos is bad enough. But no comics? No posters? No figurines, card sets, books, annuals or rip-off Toitles from Spain? This has to be a joke. The things I have taken pride in collecting for several years have just disappeared in what appears to be the blink of an eye. Or the duration of one fight even.  
  
I switch on the news and half listen as I search my little flat. Then I listen fully, because the news is something I cannot believe.  
  
"In local news, the Foot Clan has been brought to justice by an unknown vigilante force, known only as the Turtles....."  
  
I am standing here, wide eyed, open mouthed. At least they didn't say Toitles. I really hate the spanish version of TMNT. It can't be happening. And, here I am in New York. Here for my fights, true. But still here. Then I realise I will be going home to England soon.  
  
But before that happens, I think I'll do a little digging around underground.  
  
By that, I don't mean snooping the Foot Clan headquarters.  
  
By underground, I mean the sewers.  
  
After all, surely I could find them? Being their biggest fan, knowing the various haunts they inhabit.  
  
Surely it would be a simple thing to find them ......  
  
Suddenly, a cold chill descends on me and I realise that I'm being foolish. They have never existed so why should they exist now? Why?  
  
Then, I realise their existance has only happened since my fight.  
  
Which means I have probably been knocked out my my opponent!!!  
  
Still, if it is a dream, why not investigate it? Even if the Turtles only exist in a dream, its worth meeting them even so.  
  
TBC. 


	4. Chapter 3

**(This has taken over ten years to get back to. I even have my character looking for _VHS Videos _in earlier chapters! I've updated with a twist and a nod to the 2007 movie. Enjoy. Sorry about the immense delay.)**

I begin by meditating on what I know about the Turtles. They always chose a secure underground location, something removed or off the grid. Old sewerage plants no longer in use and junctions were a good place to start.

I looked online and browsed the internet. I looked under various combinations of the Turtles title and come up blank. I even look up _Toitles_, the knock off brand, but no joy. I'm an action girl and I hate research, but the prospect of meeting the Turtles is too good an opportunity to miss. Even if this is just a dream because I've been knocked out.

I research old underground - and more _importantly_ - abandoned facilities in and around the sewerage system. I find a few possible places to begin my search, but then it comes to me.

Donnie has an _IT business_.

I slap myself over the head in disbelief. I can't believe I didn't think of it earlier. Like Raphael, my power comes from strength and _not_ brains. What an idiot.

Looking in the phone directory for "_Donnie's Friendly IT Tech Support, 24 hours_" I am totally surprised and elated when I come across his number. He has a small advert, and a picture of a friendly technician of the human kind juggling with many phones.

I ring the number immediately. It transfers me to a machine that asks me a few '_friendly_' questions in Don's soft cultured tones. Things like, "Did you turn the computer on?" and "Have you plugged it in? and "If the screen is frozen, check batteries in mouse" and so forth. After a dozen quick remedies, the phone goes silent for a second. Then in a sprightly voice, Donny askes if the problem has been solved. "Say YES to disconnect, say NO to continue."

I say "_No_" in a loud and clear voice. I hear the phone ringing, and hope it is putting me through to Donnie.

After six seconds, the phone is answered. "This is Donnie, your friendly IT Tech Support. How can I help you?"

I clear my throat. It's a big moment. I'm actually _speaking_ to Donatello! "Hey, yes, I have a computer problem."

"Did you run through all the quick fixes before calling?" Donnie sounds weary. I can hear fingers drumming on the table top.

"Yep, the problem's_ still_ happening."

"What's wrong? Give me a detailed explanation of everything."

I suddenly realise my predicament. I have Donnie on the phone, but my computer is working fine. I am no tech genius, and I have no idea what to say next. I gabble words and I can hear Don's shocked voice on the other end.

"What_ happenened_? Are you okay?"

I had mumbled something about an _explosion_. I hit my head in frustration. "There were sparks coming out from it, and they still are."

"You need to disconnect the device from the power source immediately." Donnie explains patiently, his voice brightening at the thought of a real problem to get his head around. "I mean, _switch it off at the plug_."

I go to an empty plug socket and hit the switch so Donnie can hear the sound.

"Good, there's nothing I can do for your computer on the phone. You need to get it to someone who's qualified immediately. Its a danger to anyone who uses it. Do you know anyone who could look at it for you?" Donnie waits patiently while I try and get my brain to work. I'm furiously thinking of a reply, when Donnie comes back on. "There's a good guy I can direct you to. He lives two blocks from your home."

"You know where I _live_?" I can't believe it, and suddenly feel too overwhelmed to continue. I hang up and slap myself on the head again.

That went _well_.

The phone starts to ring, but I ignore it. I wish my words could convey as much as my actions do. It's not going to work if I can't talk without making an _idiot_ of myself.

I decide to write a list of things to ask Donatello. My eyes are tired after the fight and I feel myself slipping unconscious. I happily snooze on my sofa for a few hours until my keen senses detect movement. I creak open one eye and watch as my laptop is examined by a dark figure. There is a large staff on his back, and I know exactly who this shadowy figure is.

Opening my eyes fully, I look at him in amazement. "Hey, Donnie."

He freezes. Then he turns slowly and looks directly at me. I can barely see his face in the shadows and his expression is unreadable.

Donnie sighs, and comes fully into view. He's looking weary and ready for the screaming to start. When I don't react negatively, he smiles a little and crosses his arms. His voice is softer than the tinny voice at the end of the phone, and a lot more gentle and revealing. "_We need to talk_."

**TBC**


End file.
